on thin ice
by indelible
Summary: In which Haruhi avoids answering the question. KyouHaru


**on thin ice**

* * *

I.

If Haruhi has ever had a fault, it is this: that she dislikes confronting affairs of the heart concerning herself.

Her natural obliviousness has always been a large help to her defect. It is hard to feel wronged by someone who does not completely comprehend the intricate subtleties that one tries to extend to another. Past suitors think that it is a sad thing. Her father is secretly grateful for it.

All things, however, must come to an end, for she is not the only person who prefers to be frank when the need calls for it.

* * *

II.

It happens, like this:

"Want to get married?"

He says this, and it is not as if he is asking for her permission. He is so sure, sometimes (the overconfident bastard), but, then again, she thinks that he has thought all of this through, and that he has no doubts regarding her answer. She, however, almost chokes on her coffee, and has to keep her hold on the phone as steady as possible.

"I've talked to your father about this," he continues, interrupting her moment of terminal insanity, and she feels her hand twitch slightly at the thought of them planning for her future like the best of friends – which, by the way, they are not. (Though, sometimes, it scares her to think that her father might – just might – have too much of a liking for him to pay heed to her protests), "He seems to approve."

"I wouldn't wonder," she says in a vague tone, "if he welcomed it with open arms."

A pause, and then – "Do you?"

In her mind, she pictures the smug, condescending look on his face. It isn't hard to conjure the image; most often than not, that is the look that is plastered on his features. What is harder is to suppress it from ever appearing as clear as the sunlight on April, or as inevitable as winter snow.

Well, she thinks to herself, and promptly hangs up.

* * *

III.

It is December – the twenty first, to be exact – and it is cold outside, as most Decembers always are, but she has forgotten her gloves at home. The weather puts her in a foul mood, more so when the snow begins to soak her shoes. What's worse is that there's a strangely familiar car that's been following her since she rounded the corner a couple of blocks ago.

She has never been much for drama, but she has always been known for her bluntness. That is why she hails the car over, taps on the passenger's seat, and tells both Fuyumi and Tamaki, point blank, to stop stalking her.

"But! But!" They gape at her, looking, for all the world, like two children caught messing with the cookie jar, but Haruhi is already walking away before they can get another word in.

* * *

IV.

It is not without its advantages to Kyouya, though.

Following the episode in the sidewalk, Haruhi pays him a visit at home.

"I can't believe you got them involved," she says, and if she were the type to hyperventilate, she would have minutes ago. But, because she is Haruhi, she doesn't. Then, she pauses, and regards him strangely. "On second thought, I can't believe I don't believe it. It is just like you, isn't it?"

He shrugs. "I merely suggested it subtly. Whatever they've done is out of my hands."

"You're insane," she blurts out, "and a creepy stalker." He looks at her with a strange expression.

"No," he replies, "I'm just waiting."

She wants to ask if he is waiting for an answer, but is too afraid to do so.

She doesn't see him for two days after that.

Good. The damn bastard is ruining her holiday cheer, or whatever's left of it, anyway.

* * *

V.

Come December twenty four, she is surprised to find him outside her apartment, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

"What are you doing?" She calls out from her room.

"Can I come in?" He yells back, and she is not yet fully awake to realize that she is nodding in affirmation.

* * *

VI.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," he informs her, "just to accompany father on a business trip."

She blinks.

"And," he tries again, with more tolerance than a teacher to a difficult student, "you haven't given me a proper answer."

Something in her blood thrums, and she is not entirely sure if the noise she is hearing in the back of her head is the blood rush, or her mind melting into a pile of mush. Very, very intelligently, she opens her mouth, closes it again, and flushes.

"Kyouya," she says, and he laughs at her expression, "shut up and kiss me."

He does.

* * *

VII.

It is a tentative touch of their lips. Nothing special, as most girls are often wont to imagine. Anthropologists have yet to discover if the act in itself is a learned or instinctive behavior (1), but Haruhi thinks that it is both, or none at all. She presses her forehead against his cheek, grips his arms with the strength akin to that of the dying or the desperate. It has never been this tiring before.

Somewhere along the way (and she's not exactly sure why it is so), he becomes closer to her than anyone else has become. She knows she should feel more strongly about this, but she doesn't, and she doesn't know why.

Ohtori Kyouya has never been one for waiting. She should have realized that sooner.

* * *

VIII.

They spend the rest of Christmas Eve facing the window of her apartment, the fireplace a cheery presence behind them. In his hands, he holds a steaming cup of tea. In hers is a mug of cocoa and her finger lazily rests on the rim, a thin band barely noticeable, but it is there to stay.

Without his glasses, he seems more familiar, more pliant, and gentler in his expressions. She watches the edge of his lips curve into an unbearably soft smile as she offers him her drink. His hand is cold to the touch, but it warms her, and it has been the only thing that she has been feeling for a very long time.

* * *

a day is long

and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station

when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

* * *

(1) - refer to Wikipedia entry regarding a "kiss" 


End file.
